


12 Fluffy Days of Christmas

by spiderboyneedsahug



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Cuddles, Tony Stark Has A Heart, don't read as st//rker ya nasties, guess what. i can do fluff apparently, no beta we die like men, not st//rker, peter parker gets cold easily: the trope
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-15 21:20:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16940937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiderboyneedsahug/pseuds/spiderboyneedsahug
Summary: Christmas prompts!ORI GIVE THESE BOYS THE FLUFF THEY DESERVE





	1. Cold sleepy cuddles

**Author's Note:**

> hugs, they hug, they HUG, THEY HUG AND TONY IS **NOT** DYING IN SPACE

It’s been happening for a while now, even if he doesn’t really want to admit it.

 

December has swept in, reaching its icy fingers into New York, and, even with the heater in his Spidey suit, he can’t wear it all the time. So. School is always freezing. Always. He can never feel his anything, and he always has to hide his fingers because the tips are always splashed cyan. His healing factor is probably the only thing that’s stopped him from losing all his fingers. And maybe both hands. He doesn’t know anymore.

 

May doesn’t know. Mr. Stark doesn’t know, either. It’s not their problem, and besides, Peter’s smart enough to figure this out, right? If he can’t figure out a solution to this alone, then-

 

Ugh.

 

Peter shudders again, bunching the comforter even tighter around his shoulders. He’s swamped in blankets, but given that they’re designed to _reflect_ heat when Peter doesn’t produce any, he’s not much warmer for it. And he really, really doesn’t want to have to make his ‘requirements’ more prominent than they already are, it’s obvious to just about everyone that something isn’t quite right about him. He can’t ask FRIDAY, either, because she’s performing system maintenance on herself (which is super awesome) and is gonna be down for the next few hours.

 

By which point, he’s pretty sure he’ll be maybe hypothermic.

 

Peter curls himself up tighter, numb fingers gripping at freezing shoulders. It’s so bad he can feel that the limbs are cold, but can’t warm them up. Usually he’d just stuff his hands under his armpits and curl up, but it’s not working tonight. If he focuses, he can see a light powder snow falling outside.

 

He can’t stay in here any longer. It’s too cold. Peter swipes at his mask a few times before his fingers brush against something solid, and he picks it up. Luckily, it’s the mask and not the desk it rests upon, so Peter half-rolls it over his face and waits for the interface to light up.

“Karen?” He whispers, eyes wide.

 

He knows he could just sleep with the suit on, but that’s kind of unnerving to him and would raise too many questions. So that’s out the window.

_‘Yes, Peter?’_

“Could you- uh, could you help me to the common room? I’m- um, I’m freezing. I need to- not be here- it’s too cold. I can’t feel my anything-”

_‘Should I contact Mr. Stark?’_

“What-?! No, no! I’m fine! I was just- gonna make some cocoa! I’m fine, don’t bother him!”

 _‘Alright, Peter.’_ She sounds nearly resigned. Peter throws off the comforter (and shudders, ‘cause guess what, _it got worse)_ and pulls a jacket over his pyjamas. And that’s _before_ he wraps the comforter around his shoulders. He’s freezing. It’s not like anyone’s gonna come out and see Spider-Man tucked away in a blanket shuffling down the halls, is it?

 

Karen helps highlight the way when he steps out of his room. The lights are all down in the hallways, and he can only just see the outlines of the walls along the way. His hearing is picking up the slack for his sight, anyways -- he doesn’t exactly need to see to be able to function. It’s just a preference.

 

The absolute silence is kinda unsettling, though. The place feels desolate. Dead. Nothing moves, even as he pads silently towards the common room.

 

It’s dark there, too. Peter feels an involuntary shudder run down his spine. His spidey-sense is telling him to run, the freezing, spider half of him urges him to find warmth, and the very confused part of him is, you guessed it, confused.

 

But maybe that’s the hypothermia speaking.

 

He doesn’t switch on the lights as he makes the cocoa, ice-cold fingers painfully impacting the even colder marble surface of the kitchen work surface as he works. Then, while he waits for the kettle to boil, he wraps himself up again and slides down to the floor. He’s so cold. When the kettle is done, he quickly grabs the mug and falls back into his comforter, resting comfortably against the kitchen island’s stand, and revels in the warmth coming from the mug. It’s the best thing he’s felt, _ever._

 

Seriously.

 

Slowly, he sips at the drink. It’s sweet. Almost sickeningly so, but just within the realms of _enjoyable._ Warmth spreads through him from his oesophagus across his body, fingers being scalded by the hot mug, but it’s so much more inviting than the cold, so he allows it to burn. Peter’s eyes flutter shut, suddenly weighing that of the world, even as he continues to drink (very much on autopilot). It empties too quickly, and the warm dies away so fast he has to tuck the comforter around himself again.

 

 _Oh well,_ he thinks. _I can just get another drink, right-_

 

“Peter?”

He nearly jolts, except he’s too cold to move, the chill reaching down into his bones and freezing his muscles still. He makes a quiet grunt in response to his name.

“Karen called me. Are you- are you alright?”

“‘m fine.” He curls up a little tighter. He’s fine. Why’d Mr. Stark even come down?

“Which is why you’re sleeping under the table?” Peter blinks. Looks up. It’s still dark, but he can see Mr. Stark’s silhouette against the wall.

“t’s not that important, Mis’er Stark, you can- you can go back to sleep.”

He tries to squirm when his weight is shifted around into a carry, mug wobbling precariously before stilling again.

“You coulda just told me you were too cold, y’know?”

“...sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, kiddo.”

“M’kay.”

“FRIDAY’s still down, Pete. I might head down to the labs in a sec, so if you wanna hijack my room while we wait…”

 

Peter thinks about it. FRIDAY controls the temperature in the building (or at least sets it), and with her down, it’s just a lot of unnecessary effort to rewire his room to make it hotter. So maybe…

“M’kay. M’kay.”

 

He’s too cold to be embarrassed when he nuzzles into Da- _Mr. Stark’s_ chest in search of warmth. The even bounding of his footsteps are soothing, and by the time he stops walking, Peter is nearly asleep. He’s rested down gently on the most luxuriously comfortable surface he’s ever felt, comforters smoothed out over him.

“G’night, kiddo.”

 

The pressure moves to leave the bed.

 

Peter can’t help himself -- his hand flies out to snag the wrist, because he’s feeling more at peace than he’s been in months and really, he could do with the security of having a dad-figure looking after him.

“Stay?” He feels himself mumble, curling up into a small ball again. His extremities are finally starting to warm up again. The pressure shifts, a little hesitant, but then it’s lying down next to him and Peter can distantly feel himself trying to hug the man.

 

He remembers, a while back, May telling him he was a cuddle octopus whenever he felt bad.

 

But there’s a hand in his hair, applying a gentle pressure on his scalp and smoothing out small knots. Why wouldn’t more people enjoy hugs? They’re relaxing.

 

“Sure thing, Pete.”

“Mm. Th’nks, dad.”

 

The warmth surrounds him now, chasing away the numbness in his limbs.

“No prob, spiderbaby.”


	2. Blanket Forts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Local child needs more sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tired boy, tired boy, stupid spiderbaby (i love him)

He knows he’s more prone to the cold than normal now, but it doesn’t mean it sucks any less for the icy-winter to swoop in and claim the city. The snow dulls his spidey-sense, and he keeps getting thrown around the place, and his immune system sucks, and now apparently he has some kinda cold. Which, y’know, sucks, especially because May is at a work thing and very much snowed in.

 

So Peter’s alone for the weekend.

 

In the cold.

 

With a stomach bug. He pretty much lives in the bathroom now, only exiting when his stomach grants him enough of a reprieve to try and eat something.

 

He’s always stupid enough to believe it’ll stay down. It never does.

 

Peter swipes a scratchy at his mouth, wiping away any saliva and bile that might be there. He slumps. He’s much too hot right now, bare arms resting against cool tiles to no avail. He can’t find any respite from the illness.

 

His phone buzzes on the pile of blankets he’d discarded in his first dash to the bathroom. Peter leans over, careful not to disturb his sensitive stomach, and reads the message.

 

**T.Stark:** _Kid, it’s lab day today. You coming? We’re waiting outside for you._

 

**P. Parker:** _uh_

**P. Parker:** _I_

**P. Parker:** _dont think im up for a lab day rn mr stark_

 

**T. Stark:** _Is everything alright?_   
**T. Stark:** _Are you okay? Do I need to come up?_

 

He thinks about lying. Thinks about playing Mr. Stark off and trying to deal with this alone.

 

A shiver dances up his spine, then a cramp that forces a whimper out of his throat.

 

He should probably get some help this time.

 

**P. Parker:** _i might need a little hell_   
**P. Parker:** _*help_

  
**T. Stark:** _Wait, what’s happened?_   
**T. Stark:** _You’re not bleeding out in your bathroom, are you?_

  
**P. Parker:** _no_   
**P. Parker:** _but i might be a little sick_

  
**T. Stark:** _How sick? Common cold, appendicitis?_

  
**P. Parker:** _uh_   
**P. Parker:** _i can’t stop throwing up_

  
**T. Stark:** _Can you get to the door to let me in?_   
**T. Stark:** _Do you guys have a spare key hidden around somewhere?_

  
**P.Parker:** _no spares_  
 **P Parker:** _i’ll let u in. just gimme a sec_

 

Peter waits. Pushes himself to his feet slowly. His stomach cramps in protest, but right now, he’s pretty sure he’s got nothing left to bring up. There’s a subdued knock at the door after a few minutes of waiting, so Peter drags himself to the front door, leaning against the wall the whole time, and unlocks it.

 

Mr. Stark looks at him. Peter watches concern bleed into the expression.

“Holy _fuck,_ kid. Have you seen yourself?”

“No.”

 

Mr. Stark’s face becomes one of consternation as he ushers Peter inside, nearly shoving him down onto the couch. Not like it’s hard right now -- Peter’s hardly able to stand up by himself, let alone resist a shove. At least he’s not at school. Flash would have been merciless. There’s a quiet hissing noise from the bathroom, and the unmistakable sound of his small fort of blankets being moved, then-

“Jesus _fuck,_ kid, have you been living in here?” That’s horror, and a smidge of disgust. Understandable. He’s been huddled in there for hours, so it’s probably pretty gross.

“Mhm.” The agitated speed of the footsteps increases, so his response wasn’t what Mr. Stark was looking for.

 

A blanket lands on him so abruptly that he jumps, then grasps at the couch when the word starts spinning again. Hands gently push him back down onto the couch, where he curls up into a ball in an attempt to make the pain in his stomach go away again. It doesn’t really work. A few more blankets come to rest on top of him, until he’s swathed and both unable and unwilling to move. He can hear Mr. Stark talking quietly-

 

_“No, Happy, go home, the kid’s sick-”_

 

But he’s too tired to care much. Peter doesn’t like being so exhausted, because it’s December and December is where his Christmas energy generally starts to kick in and right now he can’t do _anything,_ but he stays down anyway. A pillow nearby is fluffed, and his uncooperative head is lifted onto it. He gives a small huff.

“You take a nap, kid, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

 

A hand comes to rest on his head, dexterous fingers working the small knots out of his hair. Peter feels the tension drain from his shoulders, leaving only a bone-weary exhaustion. Part of him still wants to get up, to do something, to make sure it’s safe because his spidey-sense sure doesn’t think he is, but…

 

He’s got Mr. Stark here, right? If there’s anywhere he’s safe, it’s with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fuck im tired


	3. Hot Cocoa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Parker needs a break 2K18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love

Water drips from the suit, kamikaze diving onto the cold, unforgiving floor in a melodic rhythm. 

 

He’s freezing. 

 

Clutching weakly at a limp arm, Peter hobbles along the pristine corridors of the upstate compound. Searching. He needs to- he needs to find…

 

He falls into a door, and then into a room with a crash. He doesn’t quite hit the floor, no, but he does meet a few chairs and send them clattering to the ground before he’s there too, rolling onto his side in a too-wet suit that’s freezing him to death. 

 

Peter Parker is freezing, scared, and alone. 

 

He manages to drag himself out of the kitchen, off the cold, marble floor, and onto a couch. The fabric is plush, worn; it smells of motor oil and expensive cologne and faintly of metal. Peter shudders a breath and curls his limbs a little tighter into himself. It doesn’t occur to him to take off the suit, or to ask FRIDAY to heat up the room; he’s got his instincts and not much else right now. 

 

Peter drifts off with the scent of  _ safety _ filling his nostrils and clouding his brain. 

  
  


His shoulders are being shimmied, and something fluffy and soft is dragged over his shoulders. 

 

Which is  _ odd.  _

 

That’s not usually how his mornings start. 

 

Hazily, Peter blinks awake. It takes more effort than he’d like, like his eyelashes are frosted shut. The cologne smell is still strong in his nose, clouding his other senses with its potency, but he can  _ just  _ detect the sweet aroma of…  _ chocolate? _

 

Alright, this has gotten weird. 

“H-huh?”

 

A warm mug is thrust into his hands before he even opens his eyes. 

“Drink it, kiddo, it’ll warm you up.” The voice is gruff, but concerned and familiar, so Peter lifts the mug with impossibly numb arms and takes a small sip. 

 

It’s cloyingly sweet, and definitely the cause for the chocolate scent. But it’s hot, and it nearly jolts him awake by defrosting his insides. 

“That’s it, kid. You’re alright.” The tone is soothing. It’s dark outside, but he can still see Mr. Stark’s silhouette. 

 

Peter sips at the drink again. It tastes vaguely like excitement and Christmas to him. His eyes flutter shut again. 

“Alright, buddy. Go to sleep.” 

 

The mug is pried from his hands, and the blankets pulled up to his chest. 

 

Peter drifts off to the sounds of clattering in the kitchen. It’s more relieving than it has the right to be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a fifteen minute quick fic


	4. Snowball fights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's snowing, and guess what, it's chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> peter smiting tony with a snowball speaks to me, yknow

When Tony wakes up, the air inside his room is slightly more crisp than it had been when he went to sleep. The warmth under his comforter is pleasant, and he really doesn’t want to get up when he knows the second he stands up he’s gonna wish he hadn’t, but-

 

The kid’s up at the compound today. And Tony can’t exactly leave him unattended, not in this cold.

 

He looks out the slowly-untinting windows of his room, and he’s greeted by a world painted white. Not surprising, really, because this is the ice-cold touch of snow that’s leeched the warmth out of the world, but it still makes him recoil to see it. There’s quite a thick coating of the stuff. Tony pulls on thicker clothes in place of his decidedly too-thin pyjamas, and turns back to the window again.

“FRIDAY? How’s the kid this morning?” He’d had FRIDAY increase the ambient temperature in Peter’s room after his first encounter with the whole can’t-thermoregulate thing, but it still feels like something he needs to know. Just in case.

‘Look outside.’

 

Tony blinks, but follows the AI’s directions.

 

And true enough, there is a red-coated blob standing out in the snow, head of curls facing upwards towards the sky. Tony feels a small smiles curve his lips, because- because that’s such an innocent,  _ Peter  _ thing to do. Hell, knowing how excited the kid’s been for the coming winter and Christmas, Tony wouldn’t be too surprised if the kid’s been up since the crack of dawn, enjoying the snowfall.

 

Tony grabs the thickest-fleeced coat he owns, and swings it on on his way down to the Avengers’ common room. A small breakfast isn’t exactly what he should have, especially after forgetting dinner last night, but he’s got a spiderling to keep safe.

 

And a plan.

 

When Tony steps outside, the snow crunches underfoot and his foot is nearly engulfed by it. A flare of childlike excitement consumes him. Peter, maybe fifteen meters away, still hasn’t noticed his arrival yet. Tony takes a few small steps forward, as stealthily as he possibly can be, before slowly dropping into a crouch. He takes a small handful of snow and pats it together, ignoring how the cold nips at his fingers, and waits for the mass to take the shape of a ball. 

 

Peter hasn’t noticed him yet.

 

Good.

 

Tony takes aim, snowball in hand. Peter hasn’t moved from his spot yet.

 

Tony launches the snowball as hard as he can, and true to his good aim, it hits Peter square in the back with a quiet  _ thump. _ The kid leaps nearly a foot into the air with a shocked expression on his face before he whirls around, eyes wide, and (finally) notices Tony’s presence. He can’t help it. He laughs, long and hard, hands on his knees with the force of it. As soon as he’s recovered, he looks up-

 

There’s a small grin tucked away under the kid’s scarves.

 

And that’s when Tony remembers, very quickly and clearly, that Peter is  _ very  _ much enhanced and can lift a building by himself. And he’s just challenged him to a full-out snowball war. He… didn’t think this through. Tony watches, adrenaline pumping through his veins, as Peter pats a snowball together, little excited grin on his face. His cheeks are a rosy red from the cold, Tony realises, so maybe this whole war thing will do the kid some good.

 

He wills the Bleeding Edge suit to form a thin sheen of armour under his clothes so he doesn’t die by snowball warfare; not because he believes Peter will hurt him, but because he wants to avoid any  _ tender _ places (e.g. his sternum) getting hit.

 

And Tony runs. He runs as hard as he can, smirk on his face, because  _ when was the last time I ever had a snowball fight? _

 

He’s laughing until the first snowball slams against his back, nearly knocking him over in the process. Tony responds in kind, and the loud sound of laughter rings out soon afterwards. They’re leaving frenzied footsteps in the snow, Peter’s more sparingly than Tony because the little shit keeps using his strength to leap around like the spider-child that he is.

 

He doesn’t know how long it’s been since the first snowball by the time he becomes aware of Pepper just off on the sidelines, apparently getting ready to join the battle if the thick snowcoat she’s wearing is anything to go by.

 

He shrieks when her first snowball is directed at him.

“Pepper?! I thought you loved me!”

"Ah. 'Thought'."   
"Oh, I do it's just - white looks good on you."   
"I keep you around because you're pretty. And also," She gears up another one, "A good target." Tony only just ducks under her next attack, but it puts a smirk on his face when Peter doesn’t.

 

He throws his next at Pepper. A determined grin adorns her expression.

 

And he’s having the time of his life with his little family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rhodey's just upstairs watching them all kill each other with snowballs like 'they're all children wtf'


	5. Hugs to share body heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boiler broke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I RUSHED IT IM IN C L A S S

If there’s one thing he hadn’t expected to happen in the winter, it… definitely would have been this. Ever since he got bitten by a jacked spider and suddenly became able to stick to goddamn walls and decided,  _ hey, _ let’s go fight crime in garish colours, he’d thought he wouldn’t be able to be caught off guard ever again, but…

 

He feels a shudder rip through him.

 

Turns out, the heat in the apartment had been cut. He hasn’t been more shivery than usual because of his spider-half being a complete  _ dick, _ he’s just cold because the temperature inside their apartment is the same as it is outside, in the snow. It’s not a rent thing or whatever, the boiler just died and now- he’s freezing. To death, probably, who knows?

 

Peter rubs his numb hands together and blows lukewarm air into them, desperate for some kind of friction to return warmth into him. It doesn’t work, naturally, because one of the  _ many  _ perks of being half-spider is that not only does he lose his body temperature easily, but he outright doesn’t produce warmth like any other functional human being should.

 

He’s wrapped in blankets on the couch, one-time-use heat packs trapped inside with him, and it’s the only reason he hasn’t died. Or started hibernating. He really needs to do more research on the winter time habits of spiders, because if he’s gonna wind up taking a three month nap he may need to set some precautions up. Just to, y’know, make sure New York doesn’t collapse without him or his abrupt sleep giving Mr. Stark a heart attack. But- Despite the minimal warmth the hand warmers are giving him, the chemical reaction fuelling them will run out soon and he’s gonna be frosty again.

 

Peter wraps the blankets tighter around his shoulders, and curls himself up into a smaller ball. The slight burn of lactic acid in his muscles isn’t the type of warmth he should be trying for but hey, if it tricks his brain into thinking he’s warm enough then it’s good enough for him.

 

He can’t even get some cocoa or coffee to try and warm himself up. No hot goddamn water. Peter shudders into his chest, and stares out onto the bleary New York skyline. The sky is the gray he remembers slush being when he’d play outside as a kid, all murky and gross-looking, and the streets are thinly dusted with a powdery snow. It could be pretty, if it weren’t for the raging discomfort in his everything and the fact that he can’t even go outside right now. His legs are sleeping from having been bunched up for so long.

 

_ I could always put on the suit, _ he thinks,  _ but that’d be a little weird and the curtains are open at the minute. _ Bad move. Peter definitely doesn’t want some random NYC citizen to look up and see Spider-Man in a fort of blankets through a window. It’s bad for his reputation. Even though his reputation is mostly a thread of nice tweets and comments on Twitter that continuously name him as an ‘innocent, warm baby i love him’. Peter blinks a few times, and shoves his hands under his armpits. It’s getting so dark outside so early now, and he should probably bump up his patrolling hours when school is out for good because there’s definitely been more crime recently. 

 

He can feel it acutely when a few of the handwarmers sat next to him cool down, and the first little rush of cool air sweeps inside his blanket fort. Peter knows he makes a little, anguished noise, and it’s definitely something he’d be mortified about if anyone brings it up, but he’s alone in the apartment right now because May’s pulling overtime to get money to fix the boiler, and really, he’s just… ugh. Tired, cold, hungry, thirsty, there’s a whole plethora of things he could complain about right now, but he’s more mature than that and he’s also Spider-Man, so he’s just gonna keep his silence-

“Peter? I’m home, baby, where- oh.” The universe really has something against him, huh. May’s flushed, pulling off several scarves and her gloves as she kicks snow off her shoes onto the doormat. The mineral-y, almost metallic scent of it is quick to reach his nose, and damn, he really wants to be outside right now.

“Please don’t.” But here he is. Swaddled in blankets like a baby because the half of him that is a spider is a coward, too.

“Are you-?”

“I’m cold. The handwarmers just died on me.” There’s a  _ thunk  _ as May’s bag hits the floor, and she walks over to him quickly.

 

When she pulls out a blanket (he thought he’d grabbed all of them, so this is… odd) and settles next to him, distributing some of his blankets across them both, the first thing he can do is shiver, because holy  _ fuck  _ why is it so cold?

 

And, after about five minutes of miserable shuddering, he begins to warm up. It’s slow; nowhere near as quick as the handwarmers had been, but it’s better than freezing his ass off and he’s grateful for it. Peter finds himself settling into a loose hug after that, and then the sluggishness finally starts to kick in. He hasn’t been sleeping well because of the cold. Kinda hard when you roll over and your fingers are so cold they shock you into wakefulness again.

 

But here-?

 

Oh, he’s warm.

“Larb you, May.”

“I larb you too, baby. Now go to sleep.”

 

Sure, he’s still freezing, but Peter finds he prefers being cold with May rather than warm with handwarmers. It’s the company, he thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DHUFSYGEHJ


	6. Decorating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter should never be trusted to decorate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I PANICKED

“What did you  _ do?” _

 

The words are directed at a breathless, grinning, flushed Peter Parker. Tony looks around the Avengers’ common room once more, rubbing at his eyes to make sure he’s not been drugged or something.

 

Nope.

 

He stares dumbly at the garish red and gold tinsel decking out the room in every corner, every wall, every  _ thing  _ in sight, held up by webs and pins. There are baubles everywhere, too, hanging from any available surface. They match the red-gold colour scheme, and he’s pretty sure (he stares at May, she just smiles) that’s meant to reflect his alter ego. And then- and then there’s the goddamn tree, actually a real living  _ tree,  _ there’s a pleasant pine needle smell pervading the room, decked out just as painfully brightly as everything else in the room, and-

 

Peter’s on the ceiling in a crouch, reaching down to rest a star (an actual, glowing star, and it doesn’t take long for Tony to realise that the simple circuit Peter had been building down in the labs had been for this. Tony actually has to raise a hand to shield his eyes from the view.

 

Tony… kind of regrets letting the kid go to IKEA with actual money to get things for a ‘subtle, low down Christmas’. Clearly, Peter doesn’t understand the point.

 

But then again, looking at how the kid’s grinning like a madman and the way that it looks like Christmas stumbled in and threw up everywhere, he can’t find it in himself to regret the choice. The compound is always so boring at Christmas; even when he was at Stark Tower, the celebrations were on the down low. Tony’s never been a huge Christmas person, either, because it’s not like he’s had any family to celebrate it with (Pepper is normally away and / or exhausted, Happy doesn’t like the festivities much and Rhodey’s been busy in the years up to now). Peter’s bounding around between the floor and the ceiling, and Tony forgets that he is half-spider. Peter doesn’t like to advertise it very often, but- seeing the extent of his abilities first hand is pretty interesting.

 

He hears footsteps approaching from behind, and guessing from the gait, it’s-

“Hey, Happy! Look at the tinsel!” Peter, the bastard, even has the gall to chuck some in the man’s general direction. It doesn’t hit, but lands at Happy’s feet.

 

Happy turns on his heels and leaves with the same speed to which he entered. May barks a laugh where she’s stood, fixing some less obnoxious decorations up.

“He’s allergic to Christmas, kid, I’d leave it.”

_ “Alright.”  _ Peter’s tone suggests that leaving it is the last thing that he’ll do.

 

There’s snow outside and the overall atmosphere of the common room is a whole lot brighter than it’s ever been, and Tony knows he owes it all to the spiderling who’s somehow still finding more places to web tinsel to. The whole thing is horrible to look at and hurts Tony’s eyes, but Peter’s little manic grin makes some part of him very, very happy to finally indulge in the festivities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> peter is. a nerd. love him.

**Author's Note:**

> me, shook after the a4 trailer: hhhhhh


End file.
